


Our Neighbors in Goodneighbor

by memai



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Gen, Hancock is mentioned a few times soz, Other, i have never been a journalist so im sorry, make believe newspaper article
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29862006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memai/pseuds/memai
Summary: Piper visits Goodneighbor and interviews former Diamond City residents. From doctors, cooks and more, these are the stories of those left behind or turned away from the Great, Green Jewel of the Commonwealth. Just a fun little exercise!
Comments: 16
Kudos: 15





	1. Opening & Patsy Barker

Goodneighbor. The name alone brings up plenty of interesting commentary. A city full of crime and corruption. Where chemheads and ghouls go to live out the rest of their days. A wannabe Diamond City. We’ve heard it all.

It’s not hard to draw comparisons: many of the former ghoul residents of Diamond City had left for the neighboring settlement after Mayor McDonough took power. Many who felt shunned or were even ‘blacklisted’ from official resources soon packed their bags and left. We have the great, green wall keeping us safe from threats, and all they have is guns and gumption.

Diamond City has plenty to be proud of: our people are educated, charismatic, hard-working and honest. But couldn’t Goodneighbor say the same? When working on the many stories for this very paper, I’ve travelled the length of the Commonwealth, seeing sights both strange and exciting. But none have quite left an impression on me like Goodneighbor did. Or more specifically, her people.

I want to ask Diamond City this: are we really so different from other settlements in the Commonwealth? Do we deserve to rest on our laurels as the Great Green Jewel? Or are we just like them, flaws and all?

I spoke to several residents of Goodneighbor, all of whom had former ties to our city. These are their stories.

* * *

My first foray into the city was a typical one. Many who have had to travel to Goodneighbor are aware of how dangerous the city can be. And despite its infamy of chems and mercs roaming the alleys and streets, some order is maintained. And the woman heading that organization was the first person who agreed to sit down for an interview.

**Patsy Barker** used to run a small electronics repair shop in Diamond City together with her husband, the late Ken Barker. For those old enough to remember, Ken was a ghoul, and exiled after Mayor McDonough’s campaign that put him in office.

These days, Patsy takes up in Goodneighbor as the head of the Neighborhood Watch, the city’s answer to law enforcement, and general muscle around Goodneighbor. “Keep an eye out for each other,” Patsy echoes the watch’s slogan, “Because we’re all that we have.”

Patsy recalls the first time the decree passed. “It wasn’t even the guards that came knocking at our door. It was other folks. They had bats and guns and knives. It was shocking. We never thought they had it in ‘em, just last week we fixed an old hot plate for them and now they’re pointing weapons at Ken telling him to get out.” She takes a long drag from her cigarette, “Told him to get out, just like that. Like he didn’t matter, like he wasn’t even a person.”

Patsy’s story isn’t the only one. Many in Diamond City remembered the chaos when neighbors turned on each other, dragging folks out of their home and into the Boston ruins. For most folks in Diamond City, it’s a shameful mark in their history, made to be forgotten and never spoken of again. For the others affected by that fateful night, however, the pain cuts a little deeper than shame.

“He didn’t make it,” Patsy says, “I had a long time to grieve and it’s still hard to wake up in the morning most days. He got torn up by Raiders on the way here, I didn’t even have time to go back for him.”

Her loss was what inspired her to take up the guns and patched suits that made up Goodneighbor’s patrolling lawmen. Like most in Goodneighbor, she felt her way around into a job. There aren’t any employment agencies or work boards for folks to come and pitch in.

“What else was I supposed to do? There were tons of people like me, you know, people who needed help. I knew my way around a trigger, I know I’m built bigger than most. I can use that to help. Mayor Hancock promoted me real quick. We don’t just sit here waving our guns at troublemakers, we do a lot more here. Help move things around, get buildings fixed, keep an eye on each other.”

A sentiment, in this writer’s humble opinion, that many in Diamond City envy.

“It doesn’t matter to me if someone’s a ghoul or a junkie or whatever, you know? People are people. Ken survived the blasts from the war only for the people he called ‘friend’ to turn him out to the streets. I couldn’t let that go. Never can. Ken wouldn’t want me to. He was a good man who got done in by bad decisions and worse people. I’m only gonna stop when there’s a bullet in my brain.”

Many in the Neighborhood Watch look like mismatched puzzle pieces. Some are human, some are ghouls. Men, women, short, tall, skinny, stocky. “It takes all kinds,” Patsy beams, “Some of us aren’t great with guns, but maybe we’re good at keeping one ear on the ground and hearing things. Some are even better with breaking up fights.”

In her time serving Goodneighbor as the head of their Watch, Patsy’s gotten to know many of the city’s former Diamond City residents, and pointed me to former Diamond City folks who would be happy to talk about their experiences. She was good-natured about the prospect of having her photo taken, joking if I could catch her ‘good side’.


	2. The Browns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In part 2 of our article on former Diamond City residents, we talk to the Brown family who have since taken their noble professions to the streets of Goodneighbor.

After speaking with Patsy, I was directed to the Browns, a couple who had once resided in Diamond City's honored walls. When I had heard about their professions, I lamented the loss to our city... then when I finally sat down and talked with them, I realized why Diamond City had turned them away.

They weren't shy at all when I had broached the question to them, in fact, they were very enthusiastic. I was invited to their home for dinner and we had a pleasant chat over roast brahmin, a luxury even for folks in The Stands.

* * *

**The Browns** are a surprising find in Goodneighbor. It isn’t because they’re Ghouls, of course. Many in Goodneighbor’s confusing alleyways and crumbling buildings count themselves as such. But what made them stand out to me, was the fact that, had they not been Ghouls, they would have been respectable, important members of Diamond City. Ones even worthy of residence on the Stands.

 **Dr. James Brown** was a mentor to Diamond City’s own Dr. Sun. “Taught him everything I know,” he said, in a drawl that many would place as ‘Southern’ in the pre-War days. “He was a bright student, very eager to push himself. I’m glad he was able to pick things up when we left.” 

The good doctor doesn’t flinch when I ask him difficult questions. He recalls them with a cold distance, like he was reading from an old medical journal instead of a personal recollection. “When we heard the decree, we feared for our lives, naturally. We had things packed up, ready to go, it was just a matter of ‘when’ by that point. The whole city got worked up, and I still believe we were only spared some dignity because we treated their sick and educated their children.” 

The way Dr. Brown tells it, they were jolted awake sometime around midnight, the front door of their home warped and broken. “They came in with guns pointed right at my face. They said I had a few minutes to get my things, get my woman and get out.” He holds himself with a steely resolve “We grabbed our little go-bags. Mostly necessities, food and medicine. They held those guns right up against our backs, and I could still feel the heat of the barrel. We never looked back, we heard about Goodneighbor and headed straight for it.”

I had asked him if they expected this turn from their fellow neighbors. Dr. Brown only offers me a shrug. “We’re prejudiced against, and I can tell you that we always thought things were too good to be true that the folks in Diamond City tolerated us so much.” He shows me his burned hands, typical for Ghouls. You could see where the skin shifted and settled into place. “You see these hands and tell me you want these fishing bullets out of your leg.” The insinuation isn’t lost on me. 

“I was a doctor before the War. I carried that knowledge with me to help those who needed it most. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter what I knew or what I could offer, it was about what I became.”

And yet it’s almost like the good doctor was summoned to this city of sin. 

Work never ends for Dr. Brown in Goodneighbor. “There’s always something new to do here, more varied than what I got in Diamond City,” he laughs at the realization, “Take the good with the bad, I suppose.” From treating addiction, wounds, and more, Dr. Brown and his clinic has become one of the important cornerstones of Goodneighbor’s community. A few sources even say that bosses from various gangs and organizations make note to respect and even protect the Browns.

But Dr. Brown isn’t the only one pulling his weight around Goodneighbor.

* * *

When one enters the city, you’ll note that the children seem to run free of any responsibilities. The schoolhouse in Diamond City holds classes from 9:00am until 3:00pm almost ritually, a call back to the same routine in the pre-War days. 

We have **Mrs. Francine Brown** to thank for that. “I was up for a promotion to be a headmistress at one of the elementary schools here, before the bombs came and ruined everything.” She flashes me a smile so sweet you’d be hard-pressed to believe she was a Ghoul. “Well, at least now I don’t have to deal with the paperwork.”

The children in Goodneighbor receive their education from Mrs. Brown, albeit, with a more relaxed routine than what we’ve come to expect in Diamond City. “The kids don’t come from perfect homes. I’d argue that’s true about most places here in the Commonwealth, but Goodneighbor especially. You can’t tell them to sit down and focus on history and science when they’re also taking care of their siblings, or worried if their parents are ever coming back from a freelance contract.”

These ‘freelance contracts’, I’ve come to understand, is common amongst the drifters and denizens of Goodneighbor. Mercenaries and caravan hands usually sign up for long, dangerous treks across the Commonwealth with traders and merchants. Many of them don’t make it back to their home settlements once the job is done. Goodneighbor is no stranger to stories of children losing parents from such ventures.

“So we have a more go-with-the-flow method. I used to hear about it in places like Norway-- other countries before the War, how they allowed children to learn at their own pace. It works here.” She walks me through the school house situated next to the clinic. There are no real desks here, but plenty of couches and places to nap and play.

“Kids don’t get to be kids here. But you see the change when you let them color and draw for a few minutes a day. They’re not so glum, and they start opening themselves up to learning about other things.” She smiles proudly at what she’s accomplished, happily giving me a tour of the many projects assigned to her students. Little reports are stapled together lovingly in awkward handwriting, all ranging from many different topics. One, amusingly, is titled: _‘Chems are okay!’_

“Not all of them want to learn,” she tells me, “But I try, and that’s important. Everyone pulls their weight around here. Even Mayor Hancock offers a little of what he knows too. Sometimes when we teach history, and we talk about the old American Revolution, he happily plays the role of the historical John Hancock.”

A far cry from the dangerous reputation the infamous Mayor has in Diamond City. “The kids love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading folks! If you liked this installation, be sure to leave your thoughts in the comments or just smack that kudos button!


	3. Henry Lovegood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this next part, we speak to someone who digs deep in the heart of Goodneighbor's residents, and discover the truth behind the town's unsettling reputation.

After speaking to the Browns, I checked myself into the Hotel Rexford to stay for the night. I'll be the first to admit, sometimes I don't think Goodneighbor has much to offer except for sins and vices. But their hotels could rival the DugOut Inn any day of the week. Actual bedrooms, with wooden floors and clean sheets? Move aside apartment in the Stands!

I can't say much about the _friendly_ attitude of the staff. Twice I was accosted by the same man who was looking to sell me a potent strain of Jet. When I joked that my only poison of choice was a Cherry Gumdrop, he legitimately thought I had discovered some new pill. As much as I'm trying to peel back the layers of Goodneighbor's reputation, sometimes the stereotypes hold up a little too well for my liking.

The area of Goodneighbor's streets were confusing even in the pre-War days, I'm told. And it was only by a hand drawn map from a shopkeeper was I able to find my next destination. Nestled between apartment buildings and narrow alleyways, a few buildings were repurposed into working spaces. My objective was on the third floor of a green building, worn from decay and riddled with bullet-holes from, I assume, an argument between two very angry, very armed men. As I made my way up the ancient stairs, I can see why the Browns pointed me in this direction.

* * *

I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t visited the All Faiths Chapel in Diamond City in a long time. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t needed outside our beloved walls.  **Henry Lovegood** once worked as a counsellor and pastor for the chapel, but has since taken up residence in Goodneighbor.

“I couldn’t just stand there,” he says behind a mop of bright, ginger hair. “After what I heard I was… angry. I didn’t realize we had thrown so many of our own out, over what? Something they couldn’t control?”

He still wears the traditional cassock, still holds himself in a quiet and meek manner. But when he talks about helping others, there’s a passion to his words, a fire in his eyes.

“I came here on my own,” he begins. “People talked me out of it. It’d been years, folks have moved on, Goodneighbor’s gonna get you killed soon as you walk through those gates. I was scared. I was this close to just dropping the whole thing and burying my head in the sand. But I couldn’t. I just pictured being kicked out of my home and it felt so helpless. I couldn’t offer much, but I could offer a shoulder and some advice.”

Lovegood tells me he didn’t expect the citizens of Goodneighbor, let alone its infamous Mayor, let him stay for long. “But they opened up to me. I had a warmer welcome than I ever did in Diamond City.” Like Dr. Brown, Lovegood found there was plenty of work for him in Goodneighbor.

“There are a lot of people who are under so much pressure, who are going through a lot. It’s easy to look at people like this and say, what a waste of a life, getting high on chems and booze. But I ask you this: what would drive someone to do something like that to themselves? Nobody does something because of nothing, you know?”

His office is small, repurposed from the buildings that litter Goodneighbor. There are holes in the wall and little to stop the cold, but Lovegood beams at what he has. Two small armchairs, a desk for filing away reports. As we take a seat in his office, he excitedly shows me a box of letters he had received from the people he helped.

“They never stop writing. A lot of them move on from Goodneighbor, you know, settlements are starting to crop up. They’re finding purpose in life again.” He shows me a picture of a man, hearty and hale, holding up a newborn baby boy. “He was halfway to death, all he needed was someone to hear him out.”

He tells me he keeps up a code of confidentiality among those he helps, never spilling more than surface level stories. Some of them range from the mundane, cases where a good cry and a hug was needed. Some, he tells me, required working together with Dr. Brown and the local caravan routes to get proper medication. 

But Lovegood shares one client that even he was shocked by. “Mayor Hancock himself came through these doors,” he smiles. “He’s a dangerous man, but he’s a reflection of his people. I can see why people like him. So many of the people here see themselves in their leader. The charisma helps too. But even so, everyone has a demon to fight, even someone like Mayor Hancock.”

The Mayor of Goodneighbor may have a reputation that we in Diamond City fear, but among his people? He’s loved and walks among them as equals. A fact that many in the great, green jewel of Boston would find hard to imagine, given how divided we are.

It was also why Henry Lovegood decided to pack up and offer his services here. “It just goes to show you how open Goodneighbor is with its citizens. People really look out for each other here. Lately I’ve been getting people who are coming in here, you know, they’re upset, because they think their partner or their parents have been replaced by synths. Or they think their friend is going down a bad road. I tell them, no problem is too small or too big. Everyone here offers a little bit of something, and if I can’t help, someone else can.”

That much can be seen from just walking the streets. As I walked from the Browns’ residence to Lovegood’s office, I overheard citizens asking each other if they had enough food for the week, if the leak in their roofs still needed fixing. No promises of payment or favors. Of course, one shouldn’t be so naive to believe that Goodneighbor is ready to pitch in and help all those who need it.

“You hear a lot of stories about people losing loved ones to gangs or organized crime,” Lovegood steeples his hands together and suddenly, the conversation takes a darker path, “You can’t blame them, but you also have to try your hardest to help pull them out.” 

The issue with Goodneighbor’s policy, Lovegood argues, is that if everyone’s welcome, then that also invites trouble. “It’s the one thing I find frustrating about the Mayor,” Lovegood’s tone is understandably quiet, “For a politician? He’s not a hypocrite. Appreciate that in a regular guy, but a mayor? I dunno.”

When asked how often it is folks turn to crime, Lovegood understandably looks exhausted. “When you’ve been let down by authority all your life, you start thinking that the game’s rigged and the only way you’re going to win is if you stop playing fair. And unfortunately, they’re not wrong. A lot of the folks that make it big with small crimes here-- stealing, mostly, are folks who’ve been under someone else’s thumb. Usually someone with more power, and who isn’t afraid to abuse it.

“That’s not to say what they’re doing is right, or just. But it’s hard to argue with the logic sometimes, because in the world that we live in? You can’t take it personally-- it’s either your life or the other guy’s.”

And if crime isn’t the vice they turn to, Goodneighbor has plenty to offer for those looking for a way to escape. Chems, skins, memories, even.

“A lot of good people get lost to those pods,” Lovegood grumbles, “It’s easy to get addicted because it starts off with something nice and easy, like watching an old movie or something. You just sit there and relive some good times. Where’s the harm in that?”

Plenty, evidently.

“The Ghouls have it the worst, the pre-War ones especially. Their whole world, as they knew it, gone in a blast. There’s no manual, no instruction on how to navigate that kind of loss. When some of them come to me, even I find it difficult to give them an answer, or some productive solution. Sometimes all I can give them is that we have each other, and if people band together, maybe some of that old world blues could be cured.”

As he goes on, talking about the many intricacies of his occupation, he apologizes profusely, realizing he may have spoken over my questions or commentary. I certainly hadn’t noticed, he’s an animated speaker once he gets fired up, it seems.

Despite his shy demeanor, Lovegood’s a great host. He offers me some snacks and asks about what Diamond City’s like since he’s left. I’ve even shared with him some of the more popular stories this paper has sold. He tells me to send him a copy, he’d be happy to read, and tells me about another former Diamond City resident who has her own story to tell.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for making it this far! If you like the story, send some kudos my way, or leave a comment!


End file.
